


In Waking Dream

by TheWaffleBat



Series: Home From All The Ports [3]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Dad!Herodotus, Family Feels, Father Figures, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I love this old scholar dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 05:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17523059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWaffleBat/pseuds/TheWaffleBat
Summary: But her head was too heavy for those kinds of thoughts, and she didn’t want to think them even if it wasn’t. Sparta was foreign to her now, and she couldn’t afford to dwell when the cult moved through the shadows of both sides. Even more did she not want to think about Pythagoras, and Atlantis, and the fact that her mother hadn’t thought she deserved the warning that her true father was one hundred and fifty years old, still alive, and didn’t seem to have thought Kassandra worthy of even a glance at his face before now.Kassandra has the weight of the world on her shoulders and Sparta irreconcilable in her blood, and now she's met her true father. Herodotus might be able to help.





	In Waking Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Rudyard Kipling's _Sea-Wife._

Kassandra sat high on the Adrestia’s mast, on the beam that held the sail, and lay back to face the sky, eyes closed. Ikaros was circling, calling out the interesting things he saw - an excited cry of _FISH!_ when he noticed a school beneath the waves some distance away, and the more demure _boat_ for each ship he saw, sometimes counting the same boat, because he had trouble telling them apart, but Kassandra didn’t fault him for that.

She was… tired. The sea fight against one of the cultists - which one? Sokis? Sokos? She was too exhausted to remember - had been a lot more difficult than she’d thought it would be, had taken something out of her because it was _her people_ she was fighting. Sparta still had a place in her heart despite everything; despite all the fucked up things it had done to her, to her family, it still called to her, deep in her blood and bones. She had grown up Spartan, for a while, and she’d been young then, yes, but not so young that she couldn’t remember playing on its streets, her fath-  _Nikolaos_ teaching her to fight, quiet pride in his eyes. She had held Alexios, made a nest of blankets for her to hold him in, keep him warm against the night chill because he was so _tiny_ and so _fragile_.

Leonidas’ blood was still in her veins. It sang from her to every soldier on board those ships and their blood answered that call. When it came down to it she was still a Spartan, born to a Spartan mother and raised by a Spartan man; a change of colours and two decades on Kephallonia couldn’t change that no matter how much she might want it to.

But her head was too heavy for those kinds of thoughts, and she didn’t want to think them even if it wasn’t. Sparta was foreign to her now, and she couldn’t afford to dwell when the cult moved through the shadows of both sides. Even more did she not want to think about Pythagoras, and Atlantis, and the fact that her mother hadn’t thought she deserved the warning that her true father was one hundred and fifty years old, still alive, and didn’t seem to have thought Kassandra worthy of even a glance at his face before now. She didn’t want to think about how he could have fucking spared her more than a thought in all these years, given her a helping hand in reaching him because the gods thought fucking with her was a good idea and _damn destiny to Hades_ , she didn’t want to deal with him! All these years seperated, all the questions she had for him, dismissed! All to find some bloody artefacts that may or may not control people's’ minds.

Kassandra flung her arm over her eyes, annoyed with herself and the world and the gods and her mother and her father, and anything else in easy reach if she could be bothered to think about it. A simple nap, that was all she wanted! But no, all her thoughts chose _now_ to rear their heads, not when she was waiting for night to sneak into a military base and fell to blissful sleep without the distraction. Damn whatever god that gave humans thoughts.

Her wolf, curled up loyally at the base of the mast as she waited for Kassandra to come down, gave an excited little noise, claws clicking across the deck. “Yes, yes,” Said Herodotus to the wolf, “Hello to you too, my friend. Hello. Sit. Good. Kassandra! What has you out so late?”

“I could say the same to you,” She answered, sitting up to look down at him.

Herodotus smiled. “I’m an old man, Kassandra,” He said, “My bladder isn’t what it used to be, you know.” That was far more information than she had ever wanted or needed to know, and Herodotus’ smile went even wider at the expression on her face. “Ah, Kronos is truly a cruel god to us mortals, to wear away at us so. He will catch up to you too, in the end.”

“Or I’ll be dead.”

“Or you’ll be dead,” Herodotus agreed. He gestured for her to come down, and Kassandra was of the mind to welcome the company, so she jumped down and followed him to the benches; sat down next to him. When he looked to the stars, she looked too. “I know some good stories if you’d like to hear them. They always help distract me from my problem, and who knows, perhaps they might have a solution for you.”

“I’m a little old for bedtime stories, don’t you think?”

Herodotus huffed, irritable but smiling too much for that irritation to be genuine. “You are never too old for bedtime stories!” He said. His grin faded fast, turned too quickly into solemnity. “What has worried you so, my friend, to have you out so late? Meeting your mother went well, or so it seemed to me; you are Sparta bound, to save it from the Cult; and after today the world is one less a destructive madman - what troubles you? And don’t tell me it’s none of my business,” He added, turning to her. His eyes were deathly serious in the starlight. “I am your friend, and I don’t like to see you like this.”

Kassandra huffed, leaned her elbows on her knees and and stared at her clasped hands between them. She debated the merits of lying; it was true, something was wrong, but Herodotus didn’t need to be saddled with all that, weighed down under all the problems that weren’t his. He didn’t deserve having to carry her baggage simply because she couldn’t quite manage it by herself. She’d always handled things on her own - she was _good_ at that, had to be to survive being effectively orphaned on the streets. And she was a grown woman, she could handle her own feelings, or ignore them until they went away - whichever came first.

But it would also be _lying to Herodotus_ , and Herodotus and Barnabas were one of the few people in her life who cared for her and asked for nothing but her friendship and a bed on her ship in return. Everyone else either started paying attention to her because she’d helped them first, or asked her to do the impossible for them. And talking to Barnabas had helped before, when she was going to meet Myrrine. It would surprise her if Herodotus would have a solution for her, but he cared enough to ask her to complain about things and maybe that would ease some of the weight on her shoulders, crushing her like when her wolf sprawled out in the middle of the night and squashed her.

“I met my father,” She said, then decided against sharing a name just yet, not when she hadn’t quite come to terms with it. “On Thera. My real father.”

“A difficult thing for anyone,” Said Herodotus. He put his hand on her arm, warm and gentle; an offer for her, that she took, to see that he wasn’t being sarcastic; genuine concern, a mingled affection and care and heavy-hearted sympathy, shone at her from his aged, wise face. “But there’s more, isn’t there? You’d surprise me if there wasn’t.”

Kassandra found a smile for him, pulled it up from somewhere. “Not before I’d surprised myself, I promise you.” She sighed, looked back at her hands. Changed the grip they had on each other. “I’d expected… I don’t know. Someone who’d care his daughter had found him, at least; even if he was angry that I’d tracked him down. I’d know how to handle anger.”

“With your spear, I’d imagine.”

“Among other blades,” Kassandra agreed; another smile, a bit more genuine. “But he’d been expecting me and… It was like he didn’t even care I was his daughter. It was just like I was a _misthios_ come to him for a job. I have so many questions for him and only he has the answers, and he expects me to get some artefacts for him to get them!” She snarled wordlessly at Pythagoras, waiting there at the bottom of the sea. “All this time he’s known who I am and where I’ve been, and he’s done nothing to find me! I understand that his name might have made it difficult for him to raise me, but it couldn’t have been so difficult to _visit_ , could it? A disguise wouldn’t be so much effort when he’s supposed to be dead and could cut his beard.”

And yet all this time, all her childhood and adulthood, all the years she’d scrounged and saved every bit of coin she could find or steal, he’d waited for her to show, not caring to seek her out because of the gods’ plans. _Ikaros_ , her _bird_ , had been more of a father than he had been! At least Ikaros had brought her food, even if it was half-dead rats and mice. At least Ikaros had brought her gifts, even if they were only bones or the odd, worthless trinket that caught his eye because they were shiny and he knew she liked shiny things, just didn’t quite understand it was coins, not scraps of metal, though she’d thanked him for them because the _thought_ behind the gifts mattered.

No, he’d waited; not a word to her in over twenty years. He could damn well wait another twenty more if some treasure hunt was how he greeted her!

“Ah,” Said Herodotus. He moved his hand from her arm to her own hands, gently held the knot of her fingers that was as tightly wound as her heart, her nerves all pulled like the strings of bows. His thumb moved in tiny, soothing circles, and she felt those strings go a little loose, her heart beating a little more easily inside her chest. “I won’t patronise you by pretending to understand how you must feel about him,” He told her, her wolf falling across their feet in a lazy sprawl. “But I do know that if this is how he treats you then he isn’t worthy of being your father, and you have no obligation to go back to him if that isn’t what you want.”

“What should I do, Herodotus? Right now I have warmer feelings for the _Pater_ who threw me off a mountain than for him.”

Herodotus rubbed his bearded chin with his fingers; gave his jaw a thoughtful scratch, greyed hair rasping against his nails. “Do this task for him if you feel the answers will be worth the effort,” He said. “After that, I don’t know. What you feel is best for you, I think; whatever that might be.” He squeezed her hands. “And please, never forget that Barnabas and I and the Adrestia herself will be here for you, no matter what.”

Kassandra sighed, decided to accept the advice even if she didn’t know if she’d take it or not just yet. Herodotus didn’t know who her true father was, and he wouldn’t until Kassandra decided how to react to the same revelation. It was likely, anyway, that she’d take his advice; Herodotus was wiser than she was. If he said to play it by ear she would.

“Do you have a family, Herodotus? A child of your own?” Kassandra asked. She didn’t know why she wanted to know -  maybe just for the same reasons Barnabas had told her that he didn’t have one, but wanted one and decided to take Kassandra as that family.

Herodotus smiled, not quite sadly but close. “No. I’d never wanted one, before." He sighed. "I live to serve Athens, and she is a demanding mistress,” He added; used her shoulder to lever himself to his feet, but let his hand rest there a moment. “Such strange places fate takes us to, wouldn’t you agree?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest, I did consider titling this, _The Adoptdad_ , but I'm ashamed of that pun. Not enough to not share it, but enough to take some pride in my work.
> 
> Can't promise a regular update schedule for the series, playing Odyssey is slow going because I refuse to give in to Ubisoft and it's predatory microtransactions and I don't have a lot of free time to dedicate to it, but I _can_ promise that there'll be a few other works at some point.


End file.
